Slash through

Air

And cut through

Bone

As soft flesh

And rose liquid

Seperate

Around the steel wedge.

Crying and screeching;

Echoes that shake the night

And make leaves whiten

And crinkle

Like an old widow's skin.

Eyes, the size of

Silver coins,

Burst open

And spill liquid

Out of young lettuce leaves.

Violins rot,

The wood decomposing

Along with its music,

The bow sliding ever so softly against

Rusty strings, sending

Salty red-orange particles to fly,

Only to be carried by fleas

That hide under the tail of a dead cow.

Rose liquid sinks deep

Into linen

That flaps from the stormy wind

That screams out your name.

Hollow faces dance in the leaves

That fall like white snow

Into a black swamp

That swallows light Into its depths.

The leaves sink into

The dark surface

Like human teeth

Slipping back into their gums.

The long steel wedge strikes

Against the stone ground,

Rising back up into

Crunchy dead Mush.

Dear Rose-red liquid,

Stick to that wedge.

Roses hook with their thorns

And never let go.